


Angels Never Sleep in the City

by lives_on_chai



Category: La La Land (2016), Whiplash (2014)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Experimental, Gen, Jazz - Freeform, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:40:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9296618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lives_on_chai/pseuds/lives_on_chai
Summary: New York City meets Los Angeles.Or Andrew Neiman meets Sebastian Wilder.One's dreams came true, and the other's were dashed.But there is something both still love; jazz.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Got inspiration to write this. 
> 
> I thought it would be a very interesting scenario.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> -lives_on_chai

     A blue hue cast over the otherwise dimly lit room of Seb’s.

     The only real sources of light coming from the minute lamps sitting on top of equally minute tables, and from the stage which was active with a jazz band.

     The musicians were engaging in an impromptu jam session, and currently the bass was in charge of where the song was going.

     Among the music was the muted sound of chatter. However that was few and far between. Most spectators didn’t go talk; they went to listen.

     Weaving between the crowds was a man in a dark blue suit. He seemed to be on a mission for the bar.

     He passed a waitress with a tray full on whiskies on his way, and she gave him a blithe smile.

     “Hey stranger.” She said to him.

   He gave a nod. “Kate. We doing good tonight?”

     She snorted. “Take a look around yourself, place is packed. The most packed I’ve seen it all week.”

     He smirked. “That’s what I like to hear.”

     He carried on, while Kate was left to shake her head fondly.

     He finally came to the bar, where there was a young, dark skinned man behind the counter mixing drinks.

     “Jacob.” The man in blue greeted.

     Jacob looked up and grinned. “Sup, man?”

     “Oh you know,” the man in blue gestured, “How are you?”

     Jacob slid a martini down the bar top. “Busy, that’s for sure,” suddenly a drum solo starts up, “Man, Garrett is _killing_ it tonight. God, wish I could do that shit.”

     “It’s never to late to try, Jake. You’ve got a mad passion for jazz too, that’ll sure be motivation. Maybe you can ask Garrett for a few tips too.” The man told him with sincerity.

     Jacob began to slowly shake his head, beaming. “Man, you never stop.”

     “What?” The man laughed.

     “Being… Supportive.”

     The man in blue laughed even louder.

     “What can I say, you got dreams, follow them.”

     “Yeah, well, we can’t all be you now can we.” Jacob shrugged.

     The man in blue frowned.

     “Even I doubted I’d ever get to be me, Jake. But I broke past that, and I set my sights on what was really important. It’s all about conflict and compromise.”

     “That’s what you always say about jazz, man.” Jacob responded.

     “But it’s true! It’s all true.” The man in blue replied, excitedly.

     Jacob howled. “Alright, I’ll drink to that,” he slid him a shot of whisky, “To your health.”

     “C’est la vie.” They clinked glasses and downed them.

     Not a moment later, there was a loud slam of glasses on the counter.

     The man in blue looked up to see a young guy with a rather prominent nose, and short, messed up brown hair standing over them.

     “Another scotch and soda, please.” Even though there were multiple glasses on the counter, the man in blue indicated no slurring in this guy’s voice.

     “I’m sorry man, but I’ve got to cut you off.” Jacob responded.

     A look of disbelief passed over this guy’s face. “Why, I’m not even buzzed?” The guy spouted.

     “The drink limit is twenty, I’ve already given you one over. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can get you.” Jacob removed the discarded glasses from the bar top.

     The guy shook his head. “This is ridiculous. This is supposed to be a club, a jazz club, what would jazz be without alcohol?”

     “I’ll agree with you on that one. No speakeasies.” The man in blue said, sipping another whiskey that Jacob passed to him.

     The guy turned his face towards the man in blue, although the guy's eyes never met his own. The blue hue shown over the guy's face, and the man noticed that he had a few small scars on his cheeks and jaw.

     A slight smile appeared on the guy's face.

     “Finally, someone who gets it,” he began to light up, “God, I was beginning to expect no one in this town, in this _club_ even, knew anything about jazz.”

     “You must not have been looking in the right place,” the man in blue responded, “You ever come here before?”

     “No, I just moved here actually. Needed a change of scenery.” The guy took a seat.

     “Where are you from?” The man in blue asked.

     “New York City… and then I was in Austin, for a while, but I wasn’t too big on the scene there. I was going to move to Chicago before I realized it was more blues oriented, so I moved back to New York, and now I’m… here.” The guy kept his eyes trained on the counter the whole time.

     “How do you like it?” Jacob asked, while he got an order for a whiskey sour ready.

     “It’s okay, what I expected.” The guy shrugged.

     “What do you mean?” The man in blue cocked an eyebrow.

     The guy kept a stern face and shrugged again. “I can just tell there’s not a lot of people out here who are that serious about jazz music. But I guess that was expected, there aren’t any big name conservatories around here.”

     The man in blue pulled a disgruntled face.

     “Are you saying in order to play or be serious about jazz you have to get into a conservatory?” The man in blue asked.

     “I’m saying if you want to be one of the greats at it you have to.”

     The man in blue was taken aback at that.

     Not even a moment later, the guy started talking again. “That dude behind the kit is killing me, does he even know how to hold his sticks properly.”

     It wasn't even a question, more of a statement.

     “The fuck are you talking about? He’s electric, look at the way he’s commanding the kit.” The man in blue was perplexed.

     The guy shrugged. “I could do better.”

     “Could you now? What you’re a drummer, were you in a _conservatory_?” The man in blue mocked.

     “Yes. To both.”

     There was a short bout of silence.

     “Well where did you go?”

     “Shaffer.”

     The man in blue was completely speechless. “Shaffer?”

     “You know it?”

     “Of course, I think everyone does. Especially since the trial against that one teacher.”

     The guy looked up for a second, into his eyes, but for that split second the man saw a hint of fear. “Right.”

     The man in blue quickly changed the subject. “So, you think you’re better than the guy up there?”

     “Yeah.” The guy responded with unwavering confidence.

     “Alright, lets see it.”

     “Right now?” The guy’s eyebrows shot up.

     “Right now. Unless, you’re not up for it… Shaffer.” The man in blue smirked.

     “No, I am.” The guy responded, just as the current song was coming to an end.

     The crowd erupted in applause.

     “Come on.” The man in blue nodded towards the front, and began to walk up to the stage.

     He didn’t look behind him to see if the guy was following him, but there was no doubt in his mind he was.

     This was confirmed when the guy started speaking again. “Don’t you have to get clearance for this somehow? Clearance with _Seb_ , perhaps?” He chuckled.

     The man in blue turned around and stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

     The guy gapped. “You’re- uh, you’re Seb?”

     “And you are...?” The man in blu-  _Seb_ , trailed off.

     The guy started talking again. “Andrew, Andrew Neiman.”

     Seb took the guy- _Andrew’s_ , hand. “Nice to meet you, Andrew. Shall we then?”

     They continued walking up to the front.

     Seb hopped up on stage, and Andrew followed, yellow light illuminating them.

     Seb was finally able to get a good look at Andrew’s face, and even though he didn’t meet his eyes, he noticed his eyes were a light brown; eyes that have lost their lust.

     The eyes of a former dreamer whose dreams were crushed long ago.

     Seb tore his eyes away from his, and grabbed the mic.

     “Let’s give it up for these guys! That’s Jamie Rogers on the bass, Henry Kinder on the keys, Greta Landry on the sax, Nina Prolex on the trumpet, and-” he pointed back at the kit, “You’ve got a challenger buddy, Garrett Jefferson on the drums.”

     Garrett taped out a little beat, and people cheered and whooped louder.

     “Now, who is Garrett’s challenger you ask?” Seb looked back at Andrew and smirked. He then made a grand gesture towards Andrew, “Andrew Neiman ladies and gents. This is his first time at Seb’s, and he said he’s a drummer and he’d like to play for you all. So, let’s do this. Welcome to Seb’s.”

     More cheering ensued.

   “Garrett, your sticks and post.” Seb requested.

     Garrett sighed and got up. “Break a leg, good sir.” He said to Andrew, giving him a pat on the back and a small smile.

     Andrew nodded, and Seb handed him the sticks.

     “What are we playing?” Andrew asked him as he took a seat at the kit.

     “How about you lead us in. Henry, may I?” Seb asked the pianist.

     “The pleasure is all mine, Seb.” Henry replied, standing up.

     Seb gave him a pat on the back, and took his seat at the bench. "Alright you all ready? Andrew, start.”

     Andrew gave a quick nod. He tapped the bass drum and clanked the high-hat, before he counted. “5,6, 5, 6, 7-”

     And he started flying. The cymbals slashed loud and proud, but there was weightlessness to them at the same time.

     The snare flamed.

     Seb believed he could feel the bass drum pounding in the deepest depths of his soul.

     Seb could have sworn that Andrew had only been playing for a few seconds, but sweat had already dripped from his brow, and the symbols were moist from precipitation on his hands.

     Seb was so trained on what Andrew was doing, he didn’t even notice his fellow musicians had come in.

     When Nina gave him a glance from her trumpet solo, Seb finally got the hint.

     Others had solos in the song, but Seb swore all he could hear was Andrew playing.

     Weightless cymbals.

     Flaring snare.

     Soul pounding bass.

     Weightless cymbals.

     Flaring snare.

     Soul pounding bass.

     Over and over.

     Weightless cymbals.

     Flaming snare.

     Soul pounding bass.

     Weightless cymbals.

     Flaming snare.

     Soul pounding bass.

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding bass._

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding_ _bass._

Again.

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding bass._

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding bass._

     Again.

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding bass._

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding bass._

Again, again, _again_.

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding bass._

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding bass._

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snare._

_Soul pounding bass._

_Weightless cymbals._

_Flaming snar_ -

     And then it was over. Everyone has stopped. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

     Seb wiped a hand over his face, which he realized was incredibly moist. He hadn’t even noticed he was sweating.

     He looked over at his fellow musicians, who were all facing the kit, clapping loudly.

     He followed them back to Andrew.

     He was dripping in sweat, but he had this infectious smile across all his features.

     Well, all of them except for his eyes.

     Seb began to clap too, without even realizing he was doing so.

     Andrew turned to look at him, and smiled wider, as if to say “told you so.”

     Seb approached the mic again. “Andrew Neiman. Shit,” he laughed, “Let’s get Garrett up here again. Gar,” Garrett joined him at the mic, “Garrett, how did he do?”

     Garrett looked back at Andrew with a bewildered expression. “Jesus, giving me a run for my damn money that’s for sure. I might be damn near unemployed soon.”

     Seb laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Gar. It’s near Christmas after all. All right everyone, that includes that. The night is still young. Let’s get on with some more music shall we?”

     Andrew got up as Garrett patted him on the back again, uttering “fucking sick dude.” Andrew kept his hands to himself, but smiled brightly.

     Seb went back towards the bar, and Andrew followed him. “Well Shaffer,” Seb grinned, “I got to hand it to you. You certainly are one hell of a drummer.”

     “You’re not too bad at the keys either.” Andrew smirked.

     Seb gasped dramatically. “What?! The Great Andrew Neiman, complimenting me? Absurd.”

     “I’m a drummer, not a pianist,” Andrew shrugged, “And I give credit where credit is due.”

     “Wow, Neiman, I am impressed. I think this calls for a drink, bar tender.” Seb called Jacob over.

     “What about my limit?” Andrew questioned.

     “I’m the owner, and I veto that.” Seb murmured

     Jacob approached them with a howl. “Goddamn Andrew, that was something,” he served up three shot glasses, “We got Charlie fucking Parker up in here.”

     Seb noticed Andrew freeze up at that. All the vibrancy he had a few seconds ago was suddenly gone.

     “Andrew, are you okay?” Seb asked, concerned.

     “What?” Andrew snapped his head up, and then back towards the counter, “Oh, yeah, you know what I’m going to head out actually.”

     He removed himself from the bar stool and proceeded to the exit.

“What?” Seb asked. Jacob just gave him a weird look.

     Seb downed his shot, and got up to go after Andrew, “Andrew, wait!”

     Andrew didn’t stop, making his ways through whoops, and cheers, and “good job’s.”

     Seb finally caught him when he was right near the stairs leading up to the street.

     “Andrew, stop!”

     Andrew looked up at him. “No, I really have to go, I swear.”

     Seb was flustered. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but you are spectacular and you have-”

     “The only thing I have to is leave.” Andrew turned to walk up the stairs.

     Seb caught his hand. “Andrew, I-”

     He noticed Andrew’s hand was relatively wet… and warm.

     Andrew was too stunned to move.

     Seb pulled his own hand away, and saw it covered in a dark liquid. He looked down at Andrew’s hand where he saw a gnarly cut with blood still oozing from it.

     “Holy shit Andrew, you’re bleeding!” Seb exclaimed, “You need stitches, or-”

     “Thanks for pointing that out Seb, but really I-”

     “Andrew, why didn’t you say anything?”

     “I actually really just need food right now, which is something that you don’t happen to serve here, so I’m going to go get some.”

     “Wh-what? No.” Seb stumbled, feeling out of breath for seemingly no reason.

     “It’s been real Seb, goodnight.”

     And with that, Andrew Neiman was gone.

     And Seb was left to wonder when he would see him next, or if he ever would.

     And the blue hue that marinated the room suddenly seemed even darker.


	2. Green Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Thank you all very much for your comments and kudos on the first chapter, I appreciate it.
> 
> With out further ado, here is chapter two.

     A loud beeping noise erupted in the room at promptly 11 am.

     Seb groaned, and rolled over to shut it off.

     He was fully awake, but he just wanted more time to bask in the warmth of his bed.

     It wasn’t like he had to be anywhere either.

    Two big advantages of being your own boss, and the boss of a _jazz_ nightclub at that, was one, you got to make your own hours, and two, your job didn’t start till late at night.

     Seb finally decided it was time to start his day; cook some breakfast and make some phone calls.

     He pulled himself out of bed, and walked the few steps it took to get to his kitchen.

     Even though he now owned a house, there were still some features he wanted to keep from his old apartment, like the short walk to the kitchen from the bedroom in case he got hungry, and an en-suite.

     However, it wasn’t either of those that sold him on the house; it was what he didn’t have in his apartment; a wide, open space to put his piano.

     When he got the money to finally buy a house, there was hesitation to move. However, he knew he had to do it. There were too many memories he had to let go of in that apartment.

     Seb immediately got to work on some eggs and French toast.

     He whistled as he worked, working at the pan with swagger.

     He ate quickly, and went back through his bedroom to take a shower.

     He hastily washed his body, and grabbed his lone towel off the rack to dry off.

     As a matter of fact, there were a lot of single objects in his bathroom.

     He had a single toothbrush, a single stick of deodorant, and a single hairbrush.

     It’d been a long time since there’d been two of each.

     Seb took the hairbrush, and slicked back his wet, golden hair.

     As soon as Seb was done grooming himself, he went to his closet.

     He stroked his goatee in contemplation, before selecting a clean collared shirt and black wool suit with simple black tie.

     After all it was supposed to be colder outside that day, 64 degrees as a matter of fact.

     Seb decided to hit the street, and visit the club before they opened.

     He hopped into his red convertible, and began to drive down the long stretch of road.

     He took in the crisp smell and bright atmosphere. Seb had always adored Decembers in Los Angeles.

     The first time he’d ever visited Los Angeles was in December, actually.

     He had come during his winter break in high school, with his (well _then_ ) best friend Keith to visit.

     Seb had not fallen in love immediately. It was more of a slow burn. In fact, he’d hated it at first. He thought all Los Angeles was, was a city where people would yell, “look at me look at me” every chance they got. He still believed that, partly.

     But, on his and Keith’s last night, they stumbled upon this barely there; hole in the wall jazz club.

     They had struck gold. It was nothing like Seb had ever seen. It was people playing just for the hell of it.

     People that played jazz for jazz sake.

     It was so different from anything he’d ever experienced in high school jazz band, where everyone wanted to rip each other to shreds and show that they could become the best trombone player there ever was.

     These guys were who Seb aspired to be.

     And that’s when he knew, he needed Los Angeles, and he was fairly certain Los Angeles needed him back.

     He packed up everything when he was fresh out of high school and moved with Keith to a utterly dingy, shit apartment. 

     Even though he Keith didn’t stick around, Seb’s love for the city did, and that was all that mattered in his eyes.

     Seb came to a four-way stop intersection. He patiently waited till it was his turn to go, tapping on his steering wheel to his Louis Armstrong tape.

     It was then that he noticed a giant billboard just across the way.

     He paused.

     Everything turned slow.

     Normally he tried to ignore these things. He was always so fucking _careful_ about it.

     But sometimes he could escape it.

     He couldn’t escape those green eyes that bore into his soul.

     A car horn filled his ears, and he was brought back to the present. Sensing it was his turn to go, he jammed on the breaks, not seeing that a Prius to his right was also going straight.

     The Prius jammed straight into the red convertible’s side.

     Seb’s neck jolted to the left.

     “Ahh, shit!” He groaned, his neck pulsing.

     The driver of the Prius, young women with tan skin, curly jet-black hair, and a bright orange shirt got out and ran madly towards him.

     “Oh my gosh, are you okay? I am so sorry, I didn’t think you were going.” She explained frantically.

     “It’s- ah- fine.” Seb responded.

     “Is your neck okay?” She asked concerned.

     “Yeah, it’ll be,” Seb stroked his neck, and gasped in pain, “Fine, shit!”

     “Oh my gosh, I hurt you. Here, we should get you to the doctor.” She said, moving to help him out of the car.

     “But- ah- my car!” He tried to say through the increasing pain.

     “I know, I know, I’ll call the tow truck to come pick it up, but for right now you need to sit.” She plopped him down harder than she should have in the passenger side of her car. Seb groaned again.

     She cringed. “Sorry! What’s your name by the way?”

     “Seb- Sebastian, Sebastian Wilder.” Seb crinkled his eyes.

   “I’m Jaime. I’m going to call the company right now, and then I’ll take you to the doctor.”

     Seb would have argued with that. He didn’t usually take too kindly to people being, well, kind to him.

     He decided that this seemed good enough, especially since his neck hurt like no other.

-

     He sat with Jaime at the doctor’s office. The tow truck had come to pick up his car already, and Seb damn near cried watching it leave. His baby was damaged. 

     It was lucky for them that Jaime’s car was drivable. In fact, the most damage it sustained was a small dent near one of its headlights. Seb almost laughed out loud at that. He surely would’ve if he weren’t in agony.

     Jaime had to be the one to take care of most of his paperwork because he was too preoccupied with the pain in his neck.

     “So…” Seb said trying to make small talk as Jaime filled out the last of his paperwork, “I hope you weren’t on your way to anywhere important.”

     “Oh. I mean, I kind of was…” She said tentatively.

   “Oh, shit, I am so sorry.” Seb responded regretful.

     “No, no it’s okay. It was just an audition anyway.” She replied.

     Seb had to hold himself back from saying “of course it was.”

     He rather said: “Oh, so you’re an actress?” 

     Jaime bobbed her head. “Trying to be. Mostly I work at the café, on the Warner’s lot.”

     “Really?” Seb said, softly.

     “Yeah, but it’s only temporary. My boyfriend keeps telling me it’s only a matter of time, you know?” She giggled.

     Seb would have shaken his head if he could. She reminded him so much of himself. So much of…

     Suddenly, the patient exit opened, and out walked the last person Seb thought he’d see that day.

     Scar and sad eyes and all.

     “Andrew?” Seb asked.

     Andrew snapped his head up, and actually looked into Seb’s eyes. His own were wide and he gazed with intent. It was almost disturbing.

     “Seb.” Andrew said softly.

     “What are you doing here?” Seb asked.

     Andrew glanced down. “I, had-uh-an appointment, what are you doing here?”

     “I seem to have, um, whiplash.” Seb massaged his neck a bit.

     Andrew snorted.

     Seb cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

     “Nothing. So who is she?” Andrew asked, pointing at Jaime.

     Seb started. “That’s uh-”

     “Jaime.” Jamie chimed in.

     “Jaime,” Seb finished, “She’s an actress.”

     “Of course you are.” Andrew rolled his eyes.

     Jaime cocked her head. “I don’t resent that, but you sir don’t seem to have a full comprehension of my repertoire.”

     “Does it contain any projects where you wear that?” Andrew gestured to her bright orange shirt.

     “For your information, I was going to audition for the part of a construction worker, and second of all… I’ve worn much more embarrassing things than this to auditions.”

     “Interesting. Maybe I’ll see you in the next Ace Hardware Commercial.”

     “At least I’ll get farther than just going inside an actual Ace Hardware.” Jaime shot back.

     Andrew looked at Seb. “I like her. Keep her.”

     Seb raised his eyebrows. “Oh, we’re not- her car hit my car.”

     “I’ve got a boyfriend.” Jaime stated.

     “She’s got a boyfriend-" Seb trailed.

     “Finn.”

     “Finn.” Seb pointed out.

     A nurse came around to pick up Seb’s finished form.

     Andrew nodded down at the floor. “Okay, I should get going. It was good to see you again, Seb.”

    “I would nod only if I could. You too Andrew.” Seb replied.

     As Andrew was about to leave, Seb suddenly called out. “Andrew!”

     Andrew stalled, and turned around slowly.

     Seb continued. “Do you want to get some coffee with me? I want to talk about jazz with you some more.”

     “Well, I-” Andrew stumbled along.

     “Come on, you said it yourself, you don’t have any friends in LA. So, I’m offering to be your friend in LA.”

     Andrew was quiet for a few moments, clearly going over Seb’s offer in his head.

     Andrew finally nodded. “Okay, when?”

     “How does tomorrow sound?”

     “Fine.”

     “Great. Meet me across the street from my club, at the little café there, at noon.”

     “Okay, it’s a date.” Andrew replied, before quickly turning to walk out the doctor's office before Seb even had time to process it all.

     “Who was that?” Jaime asked.

     “Long story.” Seb trailed.

     “Mmhmm.” Jaime was skeptical.

     “Oh hush up.” Seb fanned the hand that wasn’t holding his neck at her, “We’re just going to be talking about jazz.”

     “Hush up? I just filled out all of your paperwork! You should be thanking me,” Jaime exclaimed, “Besides, I’m not the one who has to worry about how he’s going to get somewhere with out a car tomorrow.”

     Seb jolted up, before massaging his neck because that made it hurt even worse. “Ah, fuck!”

     “Yeah.” Jaime stated.

     “I can Uber?” Seb asked.

     “Yeah that’s a thing. You act like you’ve never used it before,” Jaime laughed while Seb kept a straight face, “Oh you’re serious. You have so much to learn, here I’ll show you while we’re waiting.”

     Jaime gestured to take out her phone.

     It was just at that moment that Seb realized that everything that day could have turned out in such a different way has Jaime not hit him. He wouldn’t have met Jaime, he’d still have his car, and he’d never had ran into Andrew.

     He supposes he’s actually rather thankful for it, even though Seb from a few years ago would have called him crazy.

   Still though, he think’s he’d be okay with it.

     One thing was for certain though, as he sat there in that office listening to Jaime ramble on about premium Uber and stuff he could give less of a shit about, the only thing he could focus on was those green eyes. Seb was trying so hard to force those damn green eyes out of his mind.

     Even though, he knew, he could never escape them.


End file.
